


Malchance // Bonne Chance

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 4+1 not 5+1 bc im a fool, 5 Times, BROTP THAT CAN ALSO BE OTP YOU FEEL, IM SO SORRY RAUL AND ZIZOU I DONT EVEN KNOW IF EITHER OF YOU DRINK, IT CAN LITERALLY BE ANYONE BECAUSE THIS IS A VERY VAGUE FIC FILLED WITH CLICHES, M/M, THIS IS SO BAD BUT, Yes you read the pairing right, also ambiguous timeline (i felt like i needed to tag this lmao), so i think this is like au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zinedine blames a lot of things. In the end, he blames himself.</p><p>Or the four times Becks (basically) kissed Zizou and the one time Zizou (actually) kissed Becks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malchance // Bonne Chance

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry. im actually a culé.
> 
>    
> p.s. david is too shippable.  
>  
> 
> p.s.s. its 2 am on a school night and i didn't do my readings bc i was writing this  
>  
> 
> p.s.s.s. rated t for mentions of drinking/drunkenness (i dont know how the rating system works to be completely transparent with you all)

**I.**

The heat he could handle. The humidity, on the other hand, he could not.

It wasn’t like he missed the dry heat of Madrid. No, nothing like that. But the suffocating heat of Las Canarias was a different monster entirely.

Not only was it warm, it was heavy. The air enveloped people in an uncomfortable blanket, like an invisible cloud that turned the atmosphere around them into something just short of a fluid. The neither here nor there state caused their shirts to cling uncomfortably to their bodies and trapped the rivers of sweat visibly dripping down their arms, unable to evaporate in the over-saturated air.    

It was no surprise that Zinédine was on his second bottle of water of the hour, itching to go for his third. Even with all the moisture in the atmosphere, he was parched.

Panting, throat itching, the Frenchman desperately looked around the field, hoping, albeit in vain, that the coach would whistle for another water break. Apparently the team didn’t look haggard enough – though, if Guti’s shorts got any higher, he might have an argument – and no break was in sight. Biting back a sigh, Zinédine turned back to the task at hand with a frown, though he couldn’t find much entertainment in waiting for his chance to practice free kicks and watching Roberto Carlos practice his own.

“Hey Zizou,” a familiar blonde head strode up to him, his surprise unable to prevent the small sense of pride at hearing the Brit’s improved Spanish accent.

Zinédine opened his mouth to reply, a small smile already visible on his lips, though he fell short after noticing the bottle of water in Beckham’s hand. He couldn’t help but pause to watch the other man raise the bottle to his lips, greedily drinking in the sight of the line of his throat as he did so.

Beckham held out the bottle once he finished, absentmindedly licking his lips in satisfaction. “Want the rest?” He asked, looking over at Zinédine with a wide-eyed expression, a bit too exaggerated for it to be genuine innocence.

Accepting the bottle with a silent nod, Zinédine repeated Beckham’s actions, inexplicably relishing in the weight of the other man’s gaze.

He blamed the heat.

**II.**

The locker room was a disaster zone at the end of the game.

They had played a complete game, finishing with a considerable goal difference. The cheering of the home fans only sweetened their victory. _El míster_ could turn a blind eye to their celebrations this once.

It was easy to get lost in the cacophony of sounds – the laughter, the blaring music. In all honesty, it was a bit overwhelming. There was a constant movement of bodies, due not only because of the general celebrations, but also because of players moving to accentuate and reiterate the short congratulations they had given each other on the pitch.

 Having scored one of the goals, as well as providing an assist, Zinédine was one of the centers of attention, much to his chagrin.

Surprisingly, he didn’t notice that Beckham had sat down on the empty spot next to him until he spoke up. “Good game today, huh?” He asked casually, so quietly that Zinédine almost didn’t hear him at first.

“It was pretty good,” Zinédine smirked, following David’s gaze out to the loud group in front of them that was only now slowly heading to the showers, since no one was in a hurry to go home. Beckham hummed noncommittally, before turning to look and the Frenchman, eyes bright.

“I didn’t get to properly congratulate you, did I?”

Instead of protesting and dismissing the question like he had previously tried many times that evening, Zinédine just agreed, the smile on his face betraying any disappointment he would have had at the other’s faux pas.

Letting out a light laugh, David wrapped his hands around Zinédine’s shoulders in a tight hug. “You played really well today,” he whispered teasingly, brushing his lips in a playful kiss against Zinédine’s cheek. “Good?” He asked once he pulled away, hands still on Zinédine’s shoulders. The Frenchman was late to respond, trying to figure out the curious glint in the other’s eyes.

The loud sound of static made the pair jump as it seemed like someone had knocked over the radio. Fighting to get his heart rate and breathing pattern to a normal level while loud protests filled the air at the sudden lack of music, Zinédine leant forward to place his forehead on David’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he sighed, “that was good.”

Unfortunately, because of this, Zinédine missed the questioning stare Raúl gave the pair after the Frenchman failed to answer the Captain’s call.

**III.**

“You know, the only love I need in my life is this.” Raúl gestured to the bar around them with a sloppy, yet obviously satisfied nod. “Forget everyone else. _Madrid es todo para mi._ Forget Barcelona. Forget everyone else.”

“Yeah! Fuck Barcelona,” Guti acquiesced raising his glass over high over his head before abruptly turning to their inebriated Captain. “Why would you love Barcelona?”

Zinédine shook his head, taking a sip of his drink, amusedly watching Raúl unsuccessfully try to fish the cherry at the bottom of his glass with his straw, either purposefully ignoring the blonde’s question or blissfully unaware of the inquiry. For some reason, he always got piña coladas after international break, but no one had the heart to ask him why. Raúl had admitted to them countless times that he hated pineapples, especially when Iker tried ordering Hawaiian pizza.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Zinédine announced. He needed a break from the blaring music. The dull beat was starting to clash with the pleasant buzz that he felt and he did not need a headache this early in the night.

The Frenchman didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed at the similarities this club had with the ones he frequented with the national team. The interesting yet familiar atmosphere that the dim colored lights provided managed to make the building a maze, but one that he was comfortable to get lost in. Then again, perhaps the alcohol in his system was responsible for lowering any anxieties that he may have felt.

“David!” Zinédine called out after spotting the Brit in the hallway that housed the club’s bathrooms and alleyway exit. He realized belatedly that David was busy talking to someone on the phone, causing him to awkwardly stop in front of his teammate. He didn’t seem to mind, however, merely raising his hand to ask Zinédine to wait as he finished his half-yelled conversation.

“Gaz, Gaz. _Gary_. Just go for it, you have my blessing. Uh-huh. I have to go. No, _I have to go_. No. _No_ ,” he huffed, giving Zinédine an annoyed look. “I have to go.” He repeated slowly, reaching over to grab the Frenchman’s arm as he did so, as if he was afraid he would walk away, but there was no other place Zinédine could think to be at that moment. Having lost his patience David just rolled his eyes and yelled “Bye!” before forcefully hanging up, immediately sliding the silver rectangle into his back pocket.

“He was drunk,” David stated in place of a greeting, his own uncharacteristically wide smile highlighting the fact that he wasn’t exactly sober himself. “How’ve you been?”

Zinédine shrugged, stepping closer to the Londoner, replying with his own toothy grin when he realized David still had a hold of his arm. “I missed you.”

He chuckled after seeing David wrinkle his nose in disbelief. “You think you missed me, there’s a difference.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zinédine challenged, mockingly raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” David nodded enthusiastically, leaning forward a bit as he did so.

“I don’t believe you.”

 “I’ll prove it,” David murmured, eyes bright, stepping forward again, almost completely closing between the distance between the two. However, whatever his plan entailed ended up being foiled after someone bumped into Zinédine. This, in turn, pushed the Frenchman into David, whose teeth ended up hitting Zinédine’s chin.  

“We should move, yeah?” David offered with a frown, having finally let go of Zinédine’s arm to rub at his jaw. Zinédine, who was mirroring his movements, simply nodded. “Raúl’s drinking piña coladas again.”

“Jesus, what does international break do to that guy?”  

**IV.**

Zinédine was having a hard time ignoring Raúl’s inquiring looks. Yes, he didn’t hate David Beckham as much as he first did when he was signed for the team. Yes, they actually talked to each other beyond what they played in games. Yes, he wasn’t exactly lying when he said he missed the Brit during international break, but the Spaniard didn’t need to make a big deal about it. They were just friends.

“Did you just share your water bottle with David, right now?”

Zinédine didn’t know why Raul needed to act so shocked. They’d done that plenty of times before.

“Yes…?” He replied, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“You know he doesn’t usually share stuff, right?” He continued, speaking slowly, like a mother teaching her child a lesson about common sense.

Zinédine was too confused to be insulted. “Yes…?”

Silence fell between the pair, only momentarily disrupted by the coach’s whistle. Raúl gave the Frenchman one last lingering look before running off with a parting nod.

“What was that?” Iker panted, having paused his run from the goal.

Zinédine had no answer.

 *

He didn’t want to admit that his last conversation with Raúl had shaken him up, but he still felt that avoiding David was his best option. Their conversations were reduced to mere smiles and waves and Zinédine purposely sat as far away as he could from the Londoner on the team bus.

“Did I do something to make you mad?” David asked once he was able to corner Zinédine as the Frenchman was making his way out of the dressing room. David usually stayed late, making Zinédine feel a bit guilty for breaking his routine.

“No, you didn’t.” Zinédine coughed, lowering his gaze to the floor, unable to handle the other’s probing stare.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yes.” He agreed, seeing no reason to lie.

“ _Why?”_ Came the simple question, the single syllable so broken and ragged, that Zinédine had no choice but to meet David’s eyes. He flinched at the openness of the other’s gaze, easily spotting the hurt in his hazel eyes.

“No, David,” he stepped forward, almost grabbing the other’s shoulder before thinking better of it, causing his arm to swing loosely at his side after the aborted motion. This friendship that Zinédine so _fervently_ defended against Raúl’s unwanted challenges was suffering due to the Frenchman’s actions. He didn’t want to break up their relationship, but the exact opposite and he was doing nothing to help that. “You didn’t do anything.” Zinédine added quietly. “Raúl was just asking about us. I think he doesn’t believe that we’re just friends.”

David’s eyes flickered, gaze still transparent enough that Zinédine could see the emotions playing out on his face a mile a minute, but he didn’t have a chance to identify any of them. At last, David’s stare turned cold, one of steely acceptance. “I’ll keep my distance then.”

With one last curt nod, David turned on his heel and ran back to the dressing room.

 _He’s going to go back and practice his free kicks_ , Zinédine thought, though he had the feeling that David’s brusque farewell meant more than that.

*

Before they stepped out to the pitch for their next game, David’s habitual “Good luck” and kiss on the cheek before the tunnel did nothing to calm him. In fact, it left Zinédine feeling hollow, a faint echo of the feeling he got when he missed a penalty.

Zinédine blamed it on pregame jitters and not the fact that David kissed the air beside him instead of placing his lips on the Frenchman’s cheek like he used to.

**V.**

Sometimes, Zinédine hated his captain. Well, he hated his innocence.

_“Haven’t you ever liked someone, like really liked someone? Like you do things just to make them happy and you always want to see them smile?”_

_“Raúl, you’re drunk,” Guti laughed, because this time he was not._

_Actually, neither was Raúl. “I’m just tired. Time zones suck.”_

_The rest of the plane cabin agreed with the statement, as various calls of “Hell yeah!” and “You’re right!” Rang across the open space._

_Zinédine hated when his captain made him think._

In the end, the Frenchman just accepted the fact that he was an idiot. Of course he knew that David Beckham was attractive. Various magazines reminded him of the fact every day that he went to buy groceries. He knew that David Beckham was charismatic and nicer than the detached persona the magazines made him out to be. He knew that from experience and was previously reminded of the fact nearly on a daily basis before he had made a fool of himself by claiming that their relationship was strictly platonic.

That, it was not.

Why he was so against in acknowledging his feelings for the other man, he didn’t know. And now that he did claim them, Zinédine couldn’t really do anything. David was markedly spending more time with people that _weren’t_ him, so Zinédine’s urges to see him smile or make him laugh were left unfulfilled.

Zinédine wasn’t a patient man. He cornered David after practice as soon as he got the chance.

“Zizou!” David exclaimed breathlessly, having just looked up from where he dropped his keys. “I, uh, excu-“

“We need to talk.” Zinédine said firmly, grabbing David’s shoulder before he could step around him.

David looked at him with a confused expression, his furrowed brow indicating that he teetered on slight annoyance. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” David sputtered, taken aback from the sudden apology, his wide-eyes betraying his surprise. Zinédine sighed, momentarily tightening the grip he had on David’s shoulder before stopping; he didn’t let go. Instead, he stepped closer with a determined expression.

“I like you.” Impossibly, David’s eyes got wider. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“Wh-“

Zinédine laughed partially out of relief for finally admitting the fact and partially out of nerves, “I really like you, David.” He was too old to have a school girl crush, yet here he was.

David didn’t say anything, instead focusing his searching gaze on the Frenchman. He apparently found what he was looking for and let out an imperceptible sigh before straightening his posture, blinking away any lingering surprise from his expression. “Prove it,” he asked challengingly, echoing their argument from that dimly lit club in Madrid. Zinédine was happy to oblige.

“Zizou? Becks?”

Jumping apart from each other awkwardly, their lips having been only centimeters apart, Zinédine turned around to see a familiar brunette walking their way.

“Raúl!” Becks called out, a bit too cheerfully. Hopefully their captain hadn’t noticed their exchange.

“What were yo-“

“Keys! Zizou found my keys!” Too quick, too loud, but Raúl seemed satisfied with David’s excuse. In fact he let out a laugh with a small shake of his head, “You, too, huh? Have you seen Ronaldo’s by any chance?”

“No, do you need help looking?”

“Could you?” Raúl asked, obviously relieved.

The pair nodded, happy to follow their captain’s request, careful to avoid each other’s gazes for the rest of the day.

 *

It was game night again and Zinédine felt almost as unsettled as the last, but for a different reason. He was certain that he had at least one of his socks backwards, maybe his shorts too. He was never this nervous before the game, and he hated to admit that there was a first time for everything, especially in this situation. No one seemed to notice his odd behavior, except the cause of it, who kept on trying to sneak glances at him, but was failing. This was the third time their gazes met in the last ten minutes.

_“¡Okay, vámonos, chicos!”_

Zinédine couldn’t play like this.

In the commotion of players leaving the locker room, Zinédine purposefully strode to the person in question, who, in contrast, was patiently waiting for his arrival. “Yes?” David asked, a small smile easily finding its way on to his lips, effortlessly falling into the routine they had established prior to the small fallout. Zinédine didn’t particularly consider himself an envious man until then.

He didn’t know whether or his accelerated heartbeat was due to his nerves or the fact that he was able to witness one of David’s smiles so closely again, but whatever it was, he knew it was because of the man in front of him.

Placing a hand at the nape of David’s neck, Zinédine leant down to press his lips against David’s in a chaste kiss. _“Bonne chance, mon cher.”_ He whispered against the blonde's lips, barely sparing a thought to his own that were embarrassingly chapped.

David’s bubbly laugh was music to his ears. “Good luck to you, too, Zizou"

**Author's Note:**

> I ACTUALLY HAD AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE FOR POSTING THIS
> 
> hello.
> 
>  
> 
> ok so
> 
>  
> 
> 1) I hope you enjoyed. pls read/comment (constructive criticism is always welcomed!!)  
> 2) THIS IS JUST A SNEAK PEEK of what I have planned to post here, like this is warning. this account is going to turn into crackship central pretty soon: I have two Luis Enrique/Pep Guardiola fics planned out and one involving these [two](http://www.mundodeportivo.com/img/a8358000-7277-11e3-8000-01de51d2d7ed/lowres/butragueno-xavi-casillas-y-raul-en-el-mejor-once-historico-de-espana.jpg) hence raúl acting sorta lovesick (sorry mom) ((sorry fernando torres))  
> 3) also if any carraville people are reading this i got an idea for a fic but i dont feel like my writing is good enough for it so... hmu maybe???  
> 4) [remember when i made that gifset using windows movie maker](http://kaligaga.tumblr.com/post/141691965094/zizou-i-prepared-some-questions-for-you-becks) bc i do too (lbr if i dont have a sideblog yet when will i ever make one)


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